God Lives in Her Eyes
by Adara-chan67
Summary: [To a child whose life ended before it really began, and to a wonderful woman who never deserved to lose so much.] Sam Winchester ends up in a very sad and very special place. Oneshot, songfic.


_Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. The anecdote in italics at the beginning was actually something I got in an e-mail and paraphrased, because I don't have a copy of the actual story anymore. The characters of my own making are all named after real-life people who have somehow been affected by the subject matter of the story. I don't even own the plot—not really. The story was inspired by true events, and by what might have been._

_Characters: Sam Winchester, Jessica Moore, and a couple OCs_

_Setting: A year after Jessica's death_

_Warnings: None._

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**Dedicated to a child whose life ended before it really began, and to a wonderful woman who never deserved to lose so much.**

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God Lives in Her Eyes

**Must've been mid-afternoon.**

**I could tell by how far the child's shadow stretched out and**

**He walked with a purpose**

**In his sneakers down the street.**

**He had many questions,**

**Like children often do.**

_There was once a little girl born very premature. She was small, and weak, and the doctors said that she probably wouldn't last the week. If she did, she would never be normal or healthy, they warned. The little girl was named Charlotte, and though she was so new, she was also very loved._

_Charlotte may have been small and weak, but she was also determined. She clutched life in both tiny, perfect hands and held on, for a day, and then two, and soon the week was up and the doctors were wrong._

_Five years later, Charlotte was a strong and normal child. She had none of the problems that her doctors had warned her parents of. She had many friends, and her parents' love for her had only grown._

_One day, Charlotte was at the park with her mother. She was playing a few feet away under her mom's watchful gaze, when suddenly she stopped, lifted her head, and sniffed the air. _

_Then she asked, "Do you smell that?"_

_Her mother smiled. _

"_Yes, I think it's going to rain."_

_Still Charlotte looked questioning. Her mother went back to eating, until Charlotte repeated her question. _

"_Do you smell that?"_

_Again, her mother smiled._

"_Yes, I think we're about to get very wet."_

"_No…that's not what I smell."_

"_Then what is it, sweetie?"_

"_I remember it now. It's what God smells like when he holds you close, and makes you okay again."_

**He said,**

"**Tell me all your thoughts on God.**

**Tell me, am I very far?"**

It started with the words, "Listen, Sammy, why don't you let me take this one, eh? No need for both of us to be badgering this guy."

Sam Winchester didn't really know what caused his older brother to decide this so suddenly, just as they were entering the hospital. He'd never forced Sam to go to these "interviews" during hunts, but he'd never out-and-out told him to stay behind, either. Then again, Sam _had_ been very moody today, and maybe Dean had sensed that he needed to be alone before he understood it himself.

Dean _was_ very good at that, after all.

Anyway, Sam had consented to stay in the waiting room without much argument, but soon after Dean left he found he didn't feel like just sitting and waiting, so he got up.

That was how he'd ended up restlessly wandering the hospital.

That was how he'd ended up in NICU.

That was how he'd ended up in front of a window staring at the most beautiful baby girl he'd ever laid eyes on.

**Must've been late afternoon.**

**On our way the sun broke free of the clouds.**

**We count only blue cars,**

**Skip the cracks in the street,**

**And ask many questions**

**Like children often do.**

_+Flashback+_

_Sam Winchester had dealt calmly with many things most would consider terrifying. Monsters, demons, and spirits were normal to him. Shooting, fighting, and killing were second nature. It all came easy, and always had._

_But none of those things—_none of them_—compared in any way to babysitting._

_Sam was terrified of babysitting._

_He'd never known it, not ever having had reason or means to find out._

_Until tonight._

_XXX_

"_Remind me why I agreed to this again."_

_Jessica Moore gave her boyfriend her biggest, most winning smile. "Because you love me?"_

_Sam though about it for a moment, then shook his head. "No. Not good enough. Try again."_

_She hit him, and he laughed._

"_Seriously, Sam, it won't be that bad."_

_Sam _really _would have liked to argue that point, but it was too late. Jess was already fitting her key into the lock of her sister's house and shoving the door open with a shout of "BABY PATROL IN DA HOUSE!"_

_Sam looked heavenward and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before following his the woman he loved into a place that he considered to hold something much scarier than any hell spawn._

_XXX_

_For a solid half hour after her parents left for their night out, the baby screamed, and Sam learned very quickly that the size of the body has zilch to do with the volume of the lungs._

_He hung back a little while Jess calmed the kid. She never once lost her everlasting smile, even as the baby—who, coincidentally, was named after her aunt—bellowed in her face, and Sam wondered how often she'd done this. In the two years that they'd been together, _he'd_ never seen her at work._

_But she couldn't be new at this, because she held "Little J" in calm, firm hands, and remained quietly determined to restore order. Sam felt fairly useless just sitting there, but even that feeling could not overcome his absolute terror of the little bundle in his girlfriend's arms._

_Finally, though, the screaming died down, and Little J fell quiet._

_And Jessica turned and asked, "Do you want to hold her, Sam?"_

_Sam seriously considered using the name of God, but in the end he settled for a simple—and _firm_—"No."_

_Well, apparently, his "stern voice" wasn't _quite_ as professional or militaristic as John or Dean's, because Jess only giggled and came forward with a teasing, "Sam, she won't bite."_

_And now she was coming closer, and holding the baby out…_

"_Uh, Jess, honey, I don't think this is a great idea…" Sam said, a little desperately. "What if she starts to cry again? What if I _drop_ her? No…I don't want…"_

_And then Jess shoved the bundle into his arms, and he looked down into a small pale face covered by a shock of blond hair, and he was lost._

_+End Flashback+­­­_

**We said,**

"**Tell me all your thoughts on God,**

'**Cause I would really like to meet her,**

**And ask her why we're who we are.**

**Tell me all your thoughts on God,**

'**Cause I'm on my way to see her.**

**So tell me, am I very far?**

**Am I very far now?"**

The feeling he'd had then was similar to the one he had now, Sam reflected as he stared at the little girl in the incubator. Her black eyes were like pools, pulling him in and surrounding him. She seemed so…_wise_…and the tubes and wires coming out of her small form did nothing to dampen the effect. Rather, they seemed to Sam to be symbols of her struggle, proof that she was a very old newborn.

As he watched, the baby gasped a little, her little chest hitching, and blinked. Long dark lashes brushed her cheeks, and then she was staring at him again.

Sam felt his chest tighten as he watched her fight, every breath an effort, every movement too obviously painful. She had none of Little J's vitality and energy—just too much wisdom that a baby wasn't supposed to have, too much determination that a baby wasn't supposed to need.

"Her name is Katie."

Sam started and forced his eyes away from the girl to meet the gaze of the woman who had spoken behind him.

It was clear who she was—even at a couple of weeks old it was obvious that the child was going to look like her mother. The woman was clearly Hispanic, dark-skinned and accented as she was. And like her daughter, she was looking rough around the edges—like more than anything, she was just tired of fighting life and losing, though evidently not quite ready to give up yet.

The woman smiled wanly and stepped forward. She didn't ask why Sam was standing outside the NICU staring at her dying child—simply held out a hand and said, "I'm Jeannette."

"Sam," he replied, shaking her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Sam." Jeannette looked at him, then through the window at Katie.

"Why don't you come in and meet her?"

**Its getting cold picked up toe pace.**

**How our shoes make hard noises in this place.**

**Our clothes are stained.**

**We pass many cross-eyed people,**

**And ask many questions**

**Like children often do.**

The inside of NICU was just as sad a place as Sam would have expected if he'd ever thought on it. There were ten or fifteen clear little incubators, but—thank God—only about half were occupied. Every baby was small, most so pale they were pure white. Some were deformed, with heads too large or messed-up faces. All were living and breathing off wires and machines.

Jeannette walked to Katie's incubator, smiling and nodding at anyone who looked up from their own children, talking to a couple. "We've…been here longer than most," was her only explanation when Sam looked confused as to how she knew them all so well. With the words came a gentle, sad, unfailingly sweet smile that made Sam's heart skip.

"Hey, little girl," she said quietly to her daughter, as if any loud noise would be enough to end the valiant struggle, to stop the fighting heart. "How are you feeling today?"

Katie's eyes followed her, her mouth opening in a soft coo.

"I got a letter from your daddy this morning," Jeannette continued. "He says he loves us very much, and he can't wait to come home and meet you, when the fighting stops. But in the meantime, I brought a visitor with me. He'd like very much to meet you." She beckoned Sam over. "Well?" she said, when he only stood there without a word. "Don't be rude. Introduce yourself."

Sam smiled at her motherly tone. "Hi, Katie. I'm Sam."

Katie followed the voice, her mouth now forming a silent "O" as she stared at him. Then her little fist lifted up to weakly punch the air, and Sam chuckled—something that was almost unheard of in here, judging from the looks he got.

But Jeannette was smiling again, that same sad look in her eyes. "She likes you. She doesn't move that much for just anyone. It…hurts her." She looked up at him, and the smile was gone but the sadness remained. "That's why I can't hold her."

There was a pause, during which Sam contemplated the idea of having a child and not being able to touch it, to hold it in your arms. Then, abruptly, Jeannette asked, "So what brings you to our little corner of the realm, Sam?"

Sam looked down at Katie, who stared back with that wise expression, and the words tumbled out too quickly.

"Today's the anniversary of my girlfriend's death."

He looked up to catch her stare, and chuckled softly.

"No…it's not like that. It really does have something to do with your question." Looking back at Katie again, Sam rested his hands on top of the incubator, took a shaky breath, and went on. "Jess…she was everything, ya know? We were together…three years. I wanted to ask her to marry me—had a ring picked out and everything. Even had enough saved to buy it." He smiled and traced his finger along the edge of the incubator, remembering.

"Jess loved kids more than anything else in the world. They were the very symbol of life itself to her. Every time there was a chance for a babysitting job, she jumped at the chance. And _having_ them…well, that topic came up pretty much all the time. And every time she talked about it, she seemed to just…assume that I would be the father. We never discussed it, but…she knew. And _I_ knew. I knew I was going to marry that girl, and we were going to fill a house with kids, and we were going to watch them grow up. And we were gonna teach them…everything."

He choked a little, cleared his throat.

"And then she died, and now I have so much knowledge, and no one to give it to."

Sam paused for a moment as he realized how much he'd told to this complete stranger—things he'd never mentioned even to Dean. But…it also seemed right. Here was a woman who knew sorrow, intimately, who had been forced to embrace it every day. She was watching someone who was literally apart of her die, and could do nothing. She knew hopelessness. She could easily understand, without having to try. And she wouldn't have to be burdened by him, because she was not responsible for him. Not like Dean, not like Dad.

"Anyways, I guess that's how I ended up here. I'm supposed to meet my brother, but I got restless waiting, and went to wander. Next thing I know I'm staring through the window at your beautiful little girl."

Jeannette was smiling at him again, and Sam found himself smiling right back.

He stayed there for another half hour before Dean came for him, cranky and irritated from searching. The older Winchester beckoned for him through the window, and Sam regretfully conceded that it was time to go—and probably to face a lot of questions from his brother.

Jeannette knew she would never see him again—he could tell. But he could also tell that she didn't hold it against him, and though he wondered why, he didn't ask. But he did promise to keep the baby in the prayers he now said every night, and she believed him, and maybe that was enough.

"**Tell me all your thoughts on God,**

'**Cause I would really like to meet her,**

**And ask her why we're who we are.**

**Tell me all your thoughts on God,**

'**Cause I am on my way to see her.**

**So tell me, am I very far?"**

Sam never heard from Jeannette again, of course. It wasn't possible—he'd left her no phone number, no e-mail address, no way to contact him.

But years from now, when he was in his mid-thirties and had a little of his own toddling around, Sam would run into a teenaged girl in a San Francisco coffee shop, and he would strike up a conversation while they stood in line together. The whole time, Sam would think that something in her eyes was vaguely familiar—something deep, something wise, something that saw right through him and just _knew_.

Then she would get her coffee and leave, and it would bug Sam for a while, but eventually he would go back home to his wife and son and forget all about it.

But that girl would go on with her life, and that life would be filled with great deeds and saving of lives and basically just making the world a little safer.

And a few years later, Katie would give birth to twins—psychics just like her, who would take over the job that she'd taken from Sam Winchester without his knowledge.

And the cycle of giving and taking would continue, because as long as there is life, and those able to preserve that life, then there is hope.

Even if it sometimes comes in a concealing package.

**Am I very far now?  
Am I very far now?**

**Am I very far now?**

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_Author's Note: Okay, so it's not at all like the stuff I usually write. It's short, it has very little to do with the supernatural, and Dean isn't there. I'm sorry about that, by the way—seriously. But Sam was an important part of this story, and this story is something I had to write. It was important._

_On Saturday, April 28, Charlotte Meinzer died in NICU after being born premature and sick. She struggled for two weeks, and then she let go. This fanfic was written for her, and for her mother, who is one of the best educators out there. I am proud to call her my teacher._

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"**I hold it true, whatever befall.**

" 

**I feel it when I sorrow most.**

'**Tis better to have loved and lost**

**Than never to have loved at all."**

**-Alfred Lord Tennyson**

"**Do not stand at my grave and weep.**

**I am not there. I do not sleep.**

**I am a thousand winds that blow.  
I am the softly falling snow.  
I am the gentle showers of rain.  
I am the fields of ripening grain.  
I am in the morning hush.  
I am in the graceful rush  
Of beautiful birds in circling flight.  
I am the star shine of the night.  
I am in the flowers that bloom.  
I am in a quiet room.  
I am with the birds that sing,  
I am in each lovely thing.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry.  
I am not there.**

**I did not die."**

**--**_**Grieve Not**_** by Mary Frye**


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